


On The Brink (Of Becoming Acquainted)

by curds_and_wheyface



Series: Stage Doors [1]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, M/M, Stage actor Tom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:46:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curds_and_wheyface/pseuds/curds_and_wheyface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is a prosthetic FX specialist accustomed to working on horror B-movies. He's been hired to work on a West End production of Frankenstein, creating and applying full-body makeup to 'the monster'. Today he meets his actor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Brink (Of Becoming Acquainted)

**Author's Note:**

> An idea which occured whilst watching Danny Boyle's Frankenstein stageshow.
> 
> Huge thanks to the lovely [rangerdanger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerdanger/pseuds/rangerdanger) for all of her hand-holding. Beta read by my very generous and wonderful RL friend - any mistakes are my own.

'Doing makeup' is not what Chris envisioned for his future, but here he is.

Maybe it's more masculine to call it 'prosthetics' but he's never really been hung up on stuff like that, and Luke and Liam stopped making fun of him the minute he started getting calls from actual production companies. It's only B-movies but he's pretty much one of Hammer Horror's go-to guys for gaping wounds or grotesque mutilations and his team's just signed off on a five-year contract for an upcoming Lionsgate slasher franchise. It's messy work, but he likes it.

Thankfully horror doesn't really have an 'off-season' but there are times when the work is only coming in drips and drabs, and he has to follow it then, or on occasion chase it.

He found his way onto London's West End entirely by accident; hired by some bigwig to suit-up his spoiled sixteen year old for a Halloween party, for a ridiculous fee, who then gave his details to a stage director working on a live version of Frankenstein.

Long and ugly lines of messy sutures, they've asked for; down the guy's torso from collarbone to navel, around the tops of his arms, along his legs and, finally, circling his long neck. He needs to look assembled, they'd told him seriously, as if Chris might've somehow reached the age of thirty without ever hearing about Frankenstein's monster.

It's hardly a challenge, but Chris hasn't worked on a stage production since school and he's looking forward to working alone for a change rather than with the motley crew he's assembled over the past two years.

He first read the script, by dim overhead lighting during a long haul flight home to his parent's house, before accepting the offer, eager to put his stamp on an adaptation that takes the monster away from the green, speechless giant that he was made to be in the movies and takes it back to its roots as a lost and curious soul. Chris spent weeks drawing up his ideas for how 'the creature' should look; bald like a new born, scars dissecting his skull, sutures slipping behind his ears to give the impression of his face being sewn on. The suture lines should be angry and red like wine, never-healing and fresh even as the months drew on in the script. When he'd scanned the stuff over last week everybody was apparently happy with his concepts.

Now he just has to meet the actor.

The stage manager, Karen, had seen him inside and left him in one of the back rooms to lay out his equipment and supplies. He's just managed to find the plug for the light above the mirror and started opening his paints and adhesives when the door opens again to reveal Karen followed by, Chris assumes, the actor.

Maybe he shouldn't be surprised that the guy is so gorgeous, but he's kind of used to working with extras and B-movie serial killers who're hired for their bulk or their contorting bodies rather than their faces. This guy, he walks in smiling like it's not seven in the morning, brightening the room so sufficiently that Chris ponders unplugging the mirror again.

"This is Tom," Karen points briefly, moving further into the room to look at the work Chris has already laid out on the table; long strips of latex fashioned to look like gruesome scars, thin rubber tubes painted black to form the sutures and various body paints to finish everything off.

Chris drags his eyes away from Tom, nervously watching her perusing his pieces, concerned that they don't look as good on the table as they will on the actor and she mightn't realise it. She pokes about for a moment and Chris looks back to Tom before he comes off as ignorant.

"Pleasure to meet you," Tom murmurs, neat and well-spoken, clipped but friendly enough.

Chris worries that the usual camaraderie he finds with the less polished actors he's used to won't materialise here, but then Tom smiles impossibly wider and his whole face transforms with it. He looks almost manic, actually, like maybe he could play one of Chris' serial killers. A Ted Bundy type, maybe, charming and handsome with something sinister lurking underneath.

"Alright mate," Chris responds, less eloquently, and then he reaches out a hand to shake.

Tom holds it for just a moment too long, just a second at most, but it has Chris glancing back up to his face, to his eyes; blue and pinched with neat little crow's-feet at the outer corners. And then Tom breaks the hold.

"I can't wait to see what you can do," he says, smiling still, and although his tone isn't suggestive in the slightest Chris somehow feels as if he's talking about more than prosthetics.

"We really liked your concepts, Chris," Karen says, with a tone like she's known him for years instead of minutes, and Chris breaks his eye contact with Tom to turn to her, finding her leaning forward to squint at his sketches, hands on her hips. "You don't think he'd be sutured right down the middle?"

Chris tries not to pull a face. "I did think about it, but I think he's been a rushed job, you know? Frankenstein wasn't focused on the aesthetics of it, he just wanted the creature alive and kicking."

He feels a bit silly, breaking down a classic piece of literature-turned-play in front of its stage manager and its star, but Tom is nodding along with him and Karen's listening intently too, like his opinion matters.

She picks up a sketch for a closer look and then waves a hand at Tom. "Show me on him."

"Oh, uh," Chris shuffles over, glancing one last time at the sketch before moving back to Tom and gesturing carefully from his left shoulder down to just right of his navel in an uneven diagonal line. "Like this, messy, you know? He's been thrown together, it's one torso but he's probably been opened up for new organs and Frankenstein would've just wanted them in there, no time for neatness."

Karen presses her lips together in consideration before looking to Tom, who shrugs with that same happy expression. "Sounds like fine reasoning to me," he says, turning his eyes to Chris. "I trust you implicitly."

"Alright," Chris can't help but smile, feeling slightly giddy as he claps his hands together. "Shall we give it all a test drive, then?"

It's the whole point of him being here - testing out the look and feel of the prosthetic makeup, seeing if it's right for the production and for Tom. If they decide it's what they're looking for he'll work with them for the duration of this run before handing over to somebody else before he's due back in the US for movie work.

Tom lifts his hands out in an open gesture. "Of course. How do you want me?"

_Naked_ , is Chris' first thought, but he thankfully manages not to voice it out loud. He does, however, need Tom to don his stage costume and he happens to know that it doesn't consist of much. He looks to Karen for a bit of help, unsure how to ask Tom to start whipping off bits of clothing without his voice breaking.

"Oh," Karen blinks, looking between them. "We don't have the stage clothes ready yet. He'll just be sort of wrapped in material for the first few scenes, tied like underwear around his hips and under. Tom, are you alright with just..." she smiles, apologetically, "stripping down to your undies?"

Tom's laugh is a bit self-conscious and breathy but he looks down at his shoes and shrugs. "I suppose I'll have to get used to being largely naked in front of strangers. Might as well start with a small audience."

Karen pats his upper arm. "Obviously I'd love to stay and enjoy your nakedness but I unfortunately have an actual job to do."

"Ah," Tom moves out of the way so she can access the door, glancing over at Chris as he does. "Just you and me then."

"You'll have fun! It's like Halloween!" Karen gives them a thumbs up as she backs away, thanking Chris profusely as she goes even though he hasn't even done anything yet.

And then they're alone.

A silence settles over them, awkward and increasingly uncomfortable, and then Tom laughs awkwardly and says "I'll just..." before turning to face the wall and kicking off his shoes. 

Chris turns his back, too, although that leaves him facing the mirror which doesn't afford Tom any more privacy than if Chris were looking right at him. He thinks about not looking, about busying himself with his supplies instead, but it's not often his job has perks like this and he's about to get up-close and personal with Tom's body anyway.

So he watches, subtly and from beneath his lashes just in case Tom looks back, letting his eyes follow the hem of Tom's shirt as it rises to reveal the band of his underwear and then his smooth, pale back. He's got better shoulders than Chris would've given him credit for, not overly wide but toned.

His shoulder blades shift as he reaches down to unfasten his jeans, bending to push them down before kicking them off. Chris notes the curiously colourful underwear with a small smile, flicking his eyes back down to his supplies, and by the time he looks back up Tom is folding his jeans and shirt over an empty clothes rack.

Chris turns to him with what he hopes is an easy smile and gestures towards the chair.

"Top or bottom?" he says, not really thinking until he sees Tom's startled face and wide eyes. "No, I meant...I mean shall we start at your feet or your head?"

"Oh!" Tom laughs, lifting a hand to rub nervously at his neck in a way that reveals a surprisingly firm bicep. "Well, if it's all the same to you I'd rather wear that bald cap for as little time as possible, so...feet?"

Chris had assumed they'd have the bigger equipment here already, but they don't, so he settles Tom in the chair by the mirror and makes a point to scribble a note above one of his sketches to remind himself to find some things.

"Generally speaking," he says, dragging an upturned plastic box over so that Tom can plant his feet on it, "I'd have a folding table set up for you to lie on, but to be honest I thought there'd be one here. I guess this'll do for today."

Settling his tools at Tom's feet he slips down onto his knees, throwing an awkward smile up at Tom who smiles back, rolling his shoulders into a fairly relaxed pose. Chris wets a rag with rubbing alcohol and lifts Tom's left foot gently to wipe a line around his ankle.

He pauses, glancing at the fine hairs on Tom's shins and lower thighs. "Uh," he swipes a chunk of loose hair from his eyes. "I'll need to shave or trim your leg hair, just where the latex will be going. It's a bitch to remove otherwise."

Tom adopts a look similar to the one he wore earlier when Karen suggested he strip down to his underwear, but then he sighs and laughs a little, shaking his head. "I feel like I should've expected that."

"Probably," Chris nods, apologetic as possible.

It'd be weird, he thinks, to shave the other man's legs the traditional way, so he's glad of his depilatory cream that he can just place on Tom's skin before wiping it off a minute later. A lot of the actors and extras he works with in horror need wounds on forearms or hairy chests and Chris got tired of explaining to people where _exactly_ he needed them to shave and why. Better, he thinks, just to do it himself.

"Is that ladies shaving cream?" Tom asks, leaning forwards to aim a withering look at the pink tube as Chris pulls it out of his tool box and opens up the cap.

Chris just says "Yes," before smoothing a neat line around Tom's ankle where the first latex strip will go. He then traces a line up Tom's shin, along his outer thigh and, carefully, up his inner thigh as far as he feels comfortable going. He takes infrequent glances at Tom's face and finds the actor watching his hands.

"I reckon I'll do latex around the ankle here to make the foot look sewn on, but then on the other leg we'll do the latex up beneath the knee?" He wraps his dry fingers around the indent just beneath Tom's opposite knee, looking up for his opinion and hoping that the other man won't disagree with him, since he's actually already made up his mind. "Makes you look a bit more pieced together, I think."

There's a little smile on Tom's face. "I think you've considered Frankenstein's mentality more than our producers have."

"Sorry," Chris laughs, slipping his fingers from around the warm skin and noticing Tom's eyes flick down almost imperceptibly to follow the movement. "I don't usually get to read the scripts. Got a little into it, I guess."

"No, no," Tom holds up his hands. "I think it's great. I'm excited to see the end result."

They share another small smile, Tom's eyes soft and pleased, and Chris squeezes a little around his ankle. "I'll get to it then, shall I?"

Chris wipes away the cream, starting from Tom's thigh and working his way down, happy with the lines of smooth skin that appear as the cream comes away. Tom, however, scoffs, lifting his leg a little unhappily. "That's just going to look weird out of costume," he huffs.

"Yeah, I wouldn't wear shorts for a while, mate," Chris hums, probably more amused than Tom is but the other man smiles anyway.

Then Chris gets to work, snipping his first length of latex to size and holding it to the ring he's made around Tom's ankle and preparing to apply the adhesive.

He's meticulous, like he always is, and for a while even forgets where he is and who he's with, lost in the process of placing with care, smoothing, wiping, blending. Each piece of latex needs to appear flush with the skin, indiscernible from the real skin, and so he works without much concern for Tom, using his hands to move Tom's leg this way and that, slipping his hands up behind the strong calf muscle to hold him in place while a particularly awkward piece of latex takes to the adhesive.

The outer thigh is easier, he slips himself around to Tom's side, wiping the skin clean once more before working the latex into place. It's a long piece and the angle is wrong, so he tips to the right slightly to catch Tom's eye.

"Can you hold this for me?" He says, indicating to the end of the latex. "Hold it there, at the top of your leg, while I get this lower part on?"

Chris suspects that helpfulness is in Tom's nature, mindful of how much care the man takes to keep the strip still even as he tilts sideways to watch Chris work. It goes on without trouble and Chris uses a gelatine mix to blend it with the skin at its thickest point where the scarring is supposed to look untidy and sore.

He lets Tom keep his fingers in place while the top half dries and stands, stretching out his legs, before moving back around to pick up the piece intended for Tom's inner thigh. Usually, on the table, he'd get his actor to flatten one leg and bend the other at the knee exposing the skin of the inner thigh, but he doesn't have that luxury here.

"Can we just..." he moves Tom's knee with a careful hand, aiming for professional and detached, before slipping himself into the space between Tom's now-spread thighs. Tom, to his credit, doesn't react.

He's broad-shouldered, always has been, and Tom helpfully widens his knees further to accommodate him. It probably shouldn't be awkward, given that they're both professionals, but it is, and Chris finds himself taking extra care not to touch Tom too much or let his fingers linger for any longer than in takes the adhesive to grip the prosthetic. He tries not to lean too close, squinting at the finer details so he doesn't have to bend forward and risk his breath ghosting over Tom's thigh.

It's not the first time he's been on his knees between a set of bare thighs but usually he can touch however he wants, wring pleasure from the other person with his hands and his mouth, and whether or not he'd quite like that with Tom too is irrelevant because he's being paid to do a job - and not one that's preceded by the word 'blow'.

"Do you want to press and hold that?" Chris asks again, this time because the latex in question is so far up Tom's thigh that he's worried about making the other man uncomfortable. It's starting to come together, Chris thinks, shuffling back and taking in Tom's long leg, now half-spoilt by realistic looking scars.

"How does it look?" Tom asks, brows raised, and Chris can't actually find words to describe how little the prosthetics are doing to detract from Tom's attractiveness. Between his eloquence and his _face_ Chris has no idea how Tom's going to pull off this role. With his legs still spread wide and his hand pressed between he looks, scarring aside, like something Chris might dream up on a late night.

So he only nods his head and moves to distract himself by collecting the materials for Tom's other leg.

It goes much the same; Chris carefully shaving and cleaning the skin, painstakingly applying each latex strip one by one from Tom's shin to his knee to his outer thigh, and then he finds himself once again between the man's spread knees.

He's closer than he should be, probably, trying to work at an awkward piece of latex midway up Tom's inner thigh, when it becomes obvious is that Tom is contending with one hell of an erection.

Chris tries not to react at all, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the finally-sticking prosthetic strip. Ridiculously he finds himself feeling _flattered_ , excited, even though it's likely that Tom's body has simply reacted to having a person - any person - between his thighs.

He indicates again for Tom to press at the prosthesis at his upper thigh and slips out of the space, taking a moment for each of them to relax before starting on the dissection of the torso. He'll need to start at Tom's abdomen, once again putting him in close-proximity to Tom's...problem.

"That alright?" Chris asks once Tom lets go of the latex strip, and Tom prods at it awkwardly to check it's properly stuck before giving him a thumbs up.

Chris tries not to think too much about it as he drops to his knees again between Tom's thighs.

He's got his face less than a foot away from Tom's flat stomach, one hand dragging along the skin to keep it stretched and straight for the latex while the index finger of his other hand spreads adhesive between the seam of the scar and Tom's skin. He's making every effort to keep his chest from brushing against Tom's crotch but it becomes more difficult to concentrate on the makeup in the face of Tom's persistent erection and the third or fourth time his eyes slip in that direction Tom's hand comes down to cover himself.

"Sorry, sorry," Tom cringes, evidently flustered. "It's just that you have...really great hands, and they've been all over me for the last forty minutes. Carry on, I can will it away. I think."

He's so matter-of-fact about it that Chris can't help but laugh, pinching his eyes shut and wiping a gluey hand down his face.

"I bet this happens all the time," Tom continues, rambling, and Chris isn't sure whether he's asking a question or trying to convince himself that there's nothing to be embarrassed about. Maybe a bit of both.

"Not really," Chris answers, shrugging, "but I'm not usually so suggestively situated when I do this kind of thing. I do a lot of face work."

"Yeah?" Tom smiles despite the fact that he has so far failed to will his erection down. "What sort of things? Anything I've seen?"

"Oh, nah, mostly...you know, bad horror movies. I did a cool one recently where this guy's entire jaw was hanging off though, and um..." he flashes his eyes up to check that he's not boring him, but Tom looks attentive and genuinely interested, though his palm is still pressed between his legs. "And last month CSI needed a corpse that'd been gutted using a lawn mower."

"Wow," Tom breathes. "CSI."

They're silent for a minute, Chris staring at Tom's flushed face and his parted lips, wondering how it might feel to surge up and kiss him, how Tom might react. He shakes himself from the thought, dipping his small brush into the adhesive again before leaning forward to continue affixing the latex to the left of Tom's naval.

The barest press of his fingers to the skin and Tom flinches away.

"I'm sorry," he says, holding up his hands. "Can we take a moment?"

He looks away, over Chris' shoulder to the wall behind him and clenches his jaw. He's embarrassed, Chris thinks, and probably the last thing he wants is for Chris to remain kneeling where he is but that's exactly what he does.

"I really am very sorry," Tom presses his hands over his eyes and the corners of his mouth turn down. "I'm so embarrassed."

"It's okay." Chris shrugs even though Tom's still got his eyes covered. "We can do something else. We'll talk some more about CSI. I'll show you my Horatio Caine impression."

Tom groans, covering his face completely so that his voice is muffled when he says, "I'm wasting your time." When he moves his hands he's pulling the most unhappy face Chris has ever seen on a person above the age of six. "I'm a professional. Supposedly."

Chris waves him off. "It's fine."

Tom nods, although he doesn't look convinced, and then they lapse into silence again. Chris rubs at a sticky patch of glue on his palm to distract himself.

"You're still between my legs," Tom points out. "Kind of awkward."

"I was thinking, what if we..." He trails off, unsure, letting out a self-conscious little laugh that has Tom raising a brow. Ordinarily, propositioning a practical stranger would not be on Chris' to-do list but there's something so enchanting about Tom's embarrassment that makes Chris feel okay with putting himself out there too. Even if it ends in rejection he won't be the one with the hard on. "We could always just deal with it the old fashioned way."

Tom's expression shifts from interest to disbelief. "Sorry?"

"If you want..." Chris lets his thumbs slip slowly, carefully, from Tom's knees up to mid-thigh, avoiding the makeup as best he can, before pausing and giving Tom a look as casual as he can manage. "I'd be happy to help."

The first response is a huff of laughter, incredulous, but Chris makes a point of keeping his expression open and soft. Like flicking a switch, Tom goes from disbelieving to suspicious in a millisecond. He tilts his chin down to fix Chris with a guarded look.

"That's not a very funny joke."

Chris presses his lips together and smiles, hoping to look charming rather than silly. "I agree."

Tom only stares at him, mouth open slightly but not moving to form an argument. Chris lets his fingers slip further up, one into the legs of Tom's boxer briefs and one up further until his fingertips are brushing against the waistband of his underwear.

"Say no," he whispers, not a question or a statement. More like a dare.

Tom says nothing.

He keeps his eyes on Tom's as he slips a finger between the material and Tom's warm, firm stomach, watching for any sign on Tom's face that he's uncomfortable, but all that happens is Tom sucks in a slow breath and seems to hold it, eyes flicking back and forth between Chris' face and his hand.

"Okay?" he whispers, and Tom nods - just a tiny movement - blinking slowly. When Chris tugs the material away from his body and slips inside to take his hard cock in hand Tom lets go of the breath with a sharp exhale and tips his head backwards.

"I can't believe this is happening," he says to the ceiling, white-knuckle grip on the armrests of the chair.

Chris pumps his hand down to fully unsheathe the wet crown of Tom's cock, leaning forward to ghost a breath across the sensitive skin. Tom drops his head back down to watch. The first swipe of tongue is experimental, meant not to tease but to acquaint himself with Tom's taste but, regardless of the intent, it has Tom's hips flinching forwards, cock nudging awkwardly at the side of Chris' mouth and leaving a trail in its wake.

He only has to turn his head slightly to take Tom in his mouth, curling his tongue around the head and groaning at the feel of it. He sucks Tom in slowly, rolling his lips carefully beneath his teeth and hollowing his cheeks.

"Chris," Tom grunts, squeezing his eyes closed and clearly making an effort not to rock his hips forward again without permission.

The makeup makes it awkward, leaves Chris unable to get as close as he'd like, to touch the way he'd like. He itches for the chance to spread him out, his gloriously long and lean body, to touch every inch of him - smooth his palms along the finely toned muscles of his calves, his inner thighs.

He wants to ask if Tom jogs but he doesn't suppose he'd appreciate such an inane question mid blowjob.

He angles his shoulders so he can get closer without disrupting the makeup, extending his neck to bob his head lower, eager to fit as much of Tom in his mouth as possible. In response, as if seeing him struggle and trying to help, Tom lifts his knee and attempts to rest it on Chris' shoulder.

"Shit, stop," Chris pulls off to catch his breath, gripping the soft crease beneath Tom's knee and using it to hold the leg away from his body. "You'll fuck up the latex. It isn't dry yet."

He takes a moment to inspect it, genuinely prepared to stop what he's doing in order to fix it in case it dries wonky, but nothing is out of place and Tom's staring down at him with an open mouth and half-lidded eyes.

"Sorry," Tom murmurs, voice deep and slow, before shifting closer to the edge of his seat and purposefully spreading his legs as wide as possible to ensure the prosthetics don't touch Chris at all. The view it affords Chris is spectacular.

Using his hand along with his mouth he licks and sucks at Tom's hot length, twisting his fist at the base whilst playing his tongue around the head. His fingers are wet with his own drool and spit and Chris lets his tight fist follow his lips as he pulls off, hunching his shoulders down so he can nuzzle the underside of Tom's shaft and sac.

Tom emits a muffled groan and Chris flicks his eyes up to find him biting prettily at his mouth and clenching his fists beside his thighs.

He takes Tom's wrist and lifts it towards his hair, licking his lips when Tom's eyes open fully and his palm opens to cup the back of Chris' head.

"You can fuck my mouth," he says, feeling a hot flash of almost-shame up his spine. It doesn't matter; he wants it, wants Tom's hands in his hair, guiding and controlling, careless and desperate. Just the thought of Tom's cockhead nudging at his throat has him pressing the heal of his palm at the crotch of his own jeans where he strains against the zipper.

Tom is slow about it, unsure, like he can't believe what's being offered, but then his long fingers thread through Chris' hair and tug him forwards. Chris watches lazily as Tom uses his other hand to grasp his cock and nudge the tip, beaded with pre-cum, against Chris' full bottom lip.

His next breath shudders out of him, aimed up at the ceiling as he tilts his head back to expose his long throat. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallowed and Chris waits, breathing softly over the tip of Tom's cock where it's held an inch from his lips. Then, impatient, he flicks out his tongue to lick at Tom's slit, savouring Tom's hiss and the sharp taste for just a second before Tom is drawing him closer and forcing his cock along the flat of Chris' tongue.

"You're sure about this?" he breaths, his voice clipped and tight, dropping his chin again to watch as Chris hollows his cheeks in response and moans around the welcome intrusion.

With a nod Tom slips his other hand around to the back of Chris' neck, tilting his head just right so that his next thrust can sink deep, the opening of Chris' throat fluttering in a panic around him. It must feel good, Chris thinks, because Tom groans harshly and pulls back fast like he can't stand how good it is. He gives Chris just enough time to suck in another breath before he's tugging him forwards again by his neck and hair, his cock a solid weight against the back of Chris' tongue.

The next tentative shove of Tom's cock is more like it, close enough to have Chris' throat fluttering and his saliva glands working overtime at the promise of having his face fucked. He looks up through his lashes and hopes to convey that he wants it, that Tom can go a little harder.

His throat clicks wet and loud the next time Tom pulls him down and rocks up to meet him, and though he tries hard to suppress his gag reflex he doesn't quite manage, pulling off sharp and gulping in air. Tom palms at his wet dick, looking apologetic, and Chris shakes his head.

"Hang on," he says, determined. "I can take it."

He leans further forward, bettering the angle for Tom to get deeper, feeling his throat welcoming the intrusion a little more from his new position. Tom's really working for it, huffing out a tight breath with each tilt and thrust, his grip on Chris' hair more severe each time Chris manages to take him deeper.

It feels like too much and not enough all at once, having Tom's stiff cock filling up his mouth, blocking his airway with each forwards jab, pumping pre-cum onto the back of his tongue. Before long he's got his nose brushing Tom's abdomen, tears clinging to his eyelashes, and the sound of his own heart thrumming in his ears almost drowning out Tom's gasping moans.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Tom hisses, punctuating each curse with a little nudge of his hips deep into the heat of Chris' mouth, and then he lifts his hand away from Chris' neck to bite at his own fist. "I can't- I'm going to-"

He breaks off on a groan, hips stuttering, just once, so deep and unanticipated that Chris has to focus hard not to gag, and then he pulls Chris back roughly by his hair, only just enough that his come spurts hot and fast against Chris' lips and chin.

Hand still wound in his hair Tom holds him in place, breathing heavily and using his own tight fist to squeeze the last slow drop of his come out onto Chris' bottom lip. Chris generously licks out one last time at the sensitive head, pleased with his work when Tom hisses one last time and pulls sharply away.

Leaning back on his heels Chris reaches up behind himself for a rag, inspecting it carelessly for make-up or sticky adhesive before using it to wipe at his chin and mouth. Tom watches, quiet aside from his laboured breathing, fists opening and closing in his lap.

Neither speaks for the longest time.

Afterwards Tom is on his best behaviour, still, sitting nicely while Chris carefully wraps and moulds latex sutures to his shoulders and wrists moving only when Chris asks him to or encourages him with his hands. He lets Chris tilt his head back to extend his throat, sitting still while Chris applies scarring and sutures around his long neck. His eyes flick down to Chris' obvious arousal a couple of times but he says nothing, and eventually his heavy breathing has evened out enough that Chris can get back to work on his torso.

The bald cap is next, already decorated with ugly scarring and disfigurements so that all Chris needs to do is properly secure it over Tom's unruly hair and blend the edge with his skin. Lastly he glues the facial scarring in place, dirtying up Tom's sharp cheekbones with smudges of dark make-up and blending out his pink lips until they no longer detracted from his otherwise-grey pallor.

Chris steps back to get a good look, moving this way and that to check his work from all angles, stepping forward to touch up Tom's dirtied cheek before slipping back between his legs to re-glue a piece of latex that's curling away from his inner thigh.

"Ooh, don't mind me," Karen jokes from the doorway, making both of them jump. Chris certainly hadn't heard her open the door and Tom's expression tells him that neither had the actor. She steps further into the room, pulling a face when Tom turns to look at her over his shoulder. "Eugh, Tom, you look hideous."

He laughs jovially, casually, like he didn't have Chris choking on his cock just twenty minutes ago. "That's kind of the point, now isn't it?"

Chris coughs, addressing Tom. "Do you want to stand up and get a look at it?"

He steps back and watches as the actor and the stage manager survey his work, Tom twisting this way and that in the mirror, leaning closer to look at his now-bald head and the scarring across his nose and around his ears.

"It's horrible," he breathes, sounding awed. "I mean, it's brilliant. It's disgusting."

"It's perfect," Karen nods, reaching up to smooth a hand along Chris' bicep. "Good job."

Tom's smile is naughty. "Oh, he did a great _job_."

If Karen notices the way he leans on the word she doesn't say anything, prodding curiously at the ugliest of Tom's new scars, before clapping her hands and announcing that she's going to find somebody else to show him off to.

Once she leaves Chris turns to Tom, shaking his head. "Not very mature, are you?"

"No," Tom grins, evidently pleased with himself, and slides closer to Chris. "But I do believe in reciprocation."

It's not exactly the best offer Chris has ever had, considering that Tom currently looks like he lost a fight with a meat grinder, but the tone of his voice is low and seductive and Chris lets himself be backed up against the mirror table anyway.

He thinks he's going to settle in just fine here.


End file.
